


Biting

by cozywilde



Series: Kinktober [15]
Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Grinding, M/M, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 14:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozywilde/pseuds/cozywilde
Summary: Qibiik's very lucky to have found a mortal who isn't afraid to be bitten. Far from it, in fact.
Relationships: Qibiik/Whiterock
Series: Kinktober [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1243232
Kudos: 5





	Biting

**Author's Note:**

> [Qibiik](https://toyhou.se/3704999.qibiik), a playful dimension-hopping shadow demon  
[Whiterock](https://toyhou.se/3753342.whiterock), a mage who studies dimensional magic (currently, how dimension-hopping shadow demons manage it)

“Whiterock?” 

The plaintive whine nearly jars Whiterock from his train of thought, but he carefully pens the rest of the sentence before he looks up. “Yes, Qibiik?” The little demon is perched on the corner of his desk, tail swishing behind him. It’s dangerously close to knocking over a stack of notes. Whiterock moves them to the other side of the desk. 

“Pay attention to me.” Qibiik’s eyes - or what passes for eyes, a constant stream of goopy liquid from sockets black as pitch - manage to look pitifully bereft. “I’m  _ bored,  _ and I’m  _ hungry,  _ and you’ve been sitting there writing for - for  _ days!”  _

“Hours,” Whiterock corrects automatically. Qibiik pouts. Whiterock sighs. “Come here.” He sets his pen and papers aside, sitting back in his chair and indicating his lap. With a happy squeak, Qibiik vaults from the desk, promptly snuggling into his chest. He’ll have to wash his shirt later, but that’s inconsequential. 

Qibiik seems to enjoy being held. Whiterock has sometimes noticed a sound almost like a purr when he allows it. He feels heavier than a creature so slight should, his skin smooth one moment and oddly fluid the next, as Whiterock runs a hand up his back, down his arm. Whiterock doesn’t bother trying to clothe him when they’re in his study like this - Qibiik doesn’t understand clothing, and there’s hardly a need for it away from prying eyes. 

“You said you were hungry?” Whiterock prompts. Qibiik blinks up at him, then grins, a flash of white fangs. 

“Oh, yes! Very hungry. You should feed me.” 

“Remind me what you eat.” Whiterock wants to see if the answer will be consistent. Not all of Qibiik’s answers are. Lying, or simply mischievous? Hard to tell so far.

Qibiik sighs rapturously. “Blood, of course! I  _ told  _ you that.” His eyes flick to Whiterock’s throat, then his wrist. He’s practically licking his lips. Whiterock shifts in his chair, firmly reminding himself that gathering data is what he’s here for. Certainly not indulging demon who has not demonstrated extraordinary personal restraint, at least that he’s seen. 

“Do you eat anything else.” Whiterock’s level stares usually have more of an effect, but most people find a lack of pupils more disturbing. He can understand why Qibiik is unfazed. 

“Hmm… nope,” Qibiik says cheerily. “Just that.” He wiggles closer, and Whiterock grunts as his shifting body rubs over sensitive areas. “Please can I have some? Just a little?” His claws trace over Whiterock’s arm, digging in just slightly. It’s easy for Whiterock to catch his delicate wrist, but harder to resist letting go when Qibiik whines, soft and disappointed. Whiterock’s hips twitch up, and he fights back a growl. Cute Qibiik may be, but those teeth mean business. It’d be foolish, beyond stupid, and yet… 

He reaches for his pen, and Qibiik protests until he sees that Whiterock isn’t returning to his notes - he’s drawing symbols across his forearm. Falling quiet, the demon watches the steady lines of interlocking runes take shape. He leans in to see and Whiterock quickly moves his arm out of the way, not wanting splatters of Qibiik’s ichor mixed in. Gods even know what _that _might do. 

A push of magic accompanies the last sharp line, and Qibiik shivers as the runes glow bright turquoise and fade out again in a steady rhythm - the same beat as Whiterock’s heart. 

“What’s that?” He reaches out to touch and this time Whiterock lets him. It pulses against his fingertips. 

“A life-ward,” Whiterock says. Its pulsing brightness quickens, and when Qibiik glances over he squeaks with delight. Whiterock’s head is tipped back, baring the soft skin of his neck. Qibiik scrambles to readjust himself, quickly straddling Whiterock and petting eagerly over the throb of his carotid. 

“I can? Really I can?” Qibiik murmurs. His fangs dig into his lower lip, and Whiterock nearly groans, his own hands falling to Qibiik’s hips to tug him closer. 

“Yes. Take care, I don’t want to -  _ ohh.”  _

Expecting the sharp sting of a bite, the soft flick of Qibiik’s tongue makes Whiterock shiver. He feels the little excited puffs of Qibiik’s breath, knows his own has gone shaky. Whiterock brings a hand up to cradle the back of Qibiik’s neck, holding him in place. “Go on,” he murmurs. 

Qibiik needs no more encouragement. The needle-like pressure of his fangs pricks at Whiterock’s skin, and Whiterock hisses at the feeling, groaning as Qibiik’s eager tongue chases the first drops of blood that spill. “Is that all?” he grunts. “I could barely feel - fuck.” Qibiik’s teeth sink in deeper, and Whiterock trails off into a groan. 

Fitting his mouth over the bite, Qibiik purrs with each suck. Whiterock’s head falls back and Qibiik chases him down, keeping a steady pressure on the bite, on Whiterock’s shoulders, on his lap. 

“Qibiik, gods,” Whiterock slurs, and mindlessly rocks his hips up. Qibiik feels so slight normally, but like this - focused, every inch of him bearing down on Whiterock, taking what he needs - he’s immovable as stone. Or maybe it’s that Whiterock’s head is spinning. 

_ Something in the bite, maybe?  _ It’d be a decent idea... if Whiterock hadn’t been achingly hard from the moment Qibiik suggested biting him. He pants for breath as he grinds into the heat of Qibiik’s body, the chafe of his pants nothing to the twin points of bright pain beneath Qibiik’s mouth. The heady beat of his heart is everywhere - pounding at his neck, throbbing in his jeans, the low strobe of the life-ward at his arm. 

“Mm, Qibiik, let me…” Whiterock drags the hand at Qibiik’s hip between them, shifting awkwardly to reach the button and zip. Qibiik makes a noise of discontent as he’s jostled, but Whiterock’s groan of relief as he frees his dick from his pants catches his attention. He pulls away from Whiterock’s neck with a final drag of his tongue over the wounds. 

His lips drip red, his fangs painted with it. It’s utterly incongruous with the way he cocks his head as he watches Whiterock’s hand fist his dick, curious as a kitten. “Me biting you… makes you want to mate?” 

It would be more amusing if Whiterock had more than a few scraps of restraint remaining. “It’s… intense,” he manages. “The pain, the danger - it makes you feel alive.”

Qibiik pouts, looking a shade regretful even as his eyes stray longingly to the steady drip of blood Whiterock can feel at his neck. “I didn’t want to  _ hurt  _ you…”

Whiterock growls, tugging Qibiik back down so his lips brush his neck. “I  _ like  _ it, Qibiik.  _ Very  _ much.” He pushes his hips up for emphasis, riding up against that sensitive spot beneath Qibiik’s tail. 

“Oh,” Qibiik says, nipping at Whiterock’s neck again, like he can’t help it with the open wound so very close. “Well that’s okay then.” He drags his tongue from the base of Whiterock’s neck up to the bite, chasing the drips, then fits his lips over the wound again, sucking hard. Whiterock’s eyes roll back and he jerks, hips rocking against the soft curve of Qibiik’s ass. 

“Fuck. Qibiik, let me -” Whiterock kneads Qibiik’s ass, pulling him down against his dick. Qibiik hums against his neck, unwilling to pull away for even a moment, but then Whiterock groans as Qibiik's body suddenly  _ gives,  _ letting him slide in to the hilt. “Fuck,” Whiterock gasps again, and then he’s beyond words, jerking Qibiik down by his hold on his ass even as he slams his hips up. 

Qibiik whines at the jostling, clutching hard at the back of Whiterock’s neck to hold himself in place, but he’s manifested his own dick, a drippy tentacle that rides against Whiterock’s shirt and slicks it with thick dark ichor. Everything is hazy. Qibiik squeezes around him, warm and slick; Qibiik laves his tongue over his bite, sharp and stinging. His ears are ringing. His world narrows to Qibiik, the bounce of him in his lap, the fangs that worry at his neck, the soft lips that follow after. He sucks, and Whiterock moans weakly, giving and giving, blood from his neck and come from his dick that Qibiik takes, and takes, and takes, until all Whiterock sees is darkness. 

The life-ward flares, a pain that doesn’t even border on fun burning his forearm like a brand. Whiterock groans, tries to lift his head, and then decides that moving is not in the cards at the moment. There’s a warm weight in his lap. Qibiik. His head is pillowed on Whiterock’s shoulder, and from his soft moans of bliss and the thick wetness Whiterock can feel soaking into his shirt, he’s doing just fine. Thankfully he’s stopped biting, which saves Whiterock the trouble of lifting his arm to push him away. 

“Whiterock? Are you awake?” Qibiik’s voice is slurred, and he sways as he tries to sit up, making Whiterock groan. His dick is still buried deep inside of him, and each shift of Qibiik’s body makes it attempt to swell with blood that he simply can’t spare at the moment. “I thought you might’ve died, but your thingy was still glowing. Also you were breathing.” He giggles, and Whiterock cracks an eye to squint at him. 

“Are you… high.” 

“What’s ‘high’?” Qibiik says, a positively dopey grin on his face. It’s probably bizarre for Whiterock to think he’s kind of cute right now, what with the bloodstains all over his chin. He is, though. “I am just soooooo good. The bestest.” 

He is  _ definitely _ some kind of high. Whatever passes for high for a demon. Whiterock makes a mental note to make a note of that when he can move his arm again. He sighs, interrupting Qibiik’s ongoing descriptions of just how “great”, “fantabulous”, and “wonderfully stupendousful” he currently feels. “Qibiik. Can you help me to the bed.” 

“Oh, are you sleepy?” Qibiik sounds as if he’s trying to whisper, but he is pretty much at full volume. 

“I could use some rest, yes.” 

Qibiik puts his face very close to Whiterock’s. “Can we snuggle if I take you there? Pleeeeeease?” 

“Yes. We can snuggle.” 

“Why didn’t you  _ say  _ so then!” Qibiik jumps up, and Whiterock jerks as his dick is abruptly exposed to the cool air of his study. Despite his clear - alright, relatively hazy - memory of coming, he looks clean. He’s going to have to ask Qibiik about that later too. 

“C’mon, c’mooooon,” Qibiik says, tugging at Whiterock’s arm. Whiterock grunts and manages to push himself to stand, staggering heavily, head spinning. Qibiik squeaks, and then they both careen into his desk as he falters under Whiterock’s weight. “You’re  _ heavy.  _ Why can’t you walk?” Qibiik pouts. 

“I can’t walk,” Whiterock pants, “Because I am down a few pints of blood. You’re welcome.” 

“Oh right,” Qibiik says, laughing again. “Thanks! That’s what you say right? When people say ‘you’re welcome’?” 

“Yes,” Whiterock says, and then he concentrates on moving. Mostly by careening from wall to wall, he and Qibiik manage to make it through the door to his bedroom, and he faceplants on the bed as soon as it’s within falling distance. With effort, he even manages to roll over onto his back. Success. He lifts a hand to his neck, but hovers uncertainly before he touches. It would hardly do him good to go poking around in the wound, but he also doesn’t want to drain his magic by bleeding his way through the life-ward all night. 

“It’s stopped bleeding,” Qibiik says, flopping onto Whiterock’s chest. He wheezes in response. “I licked up all the extra too, even though it’s not as good as fresh.” He smiles proudly down at Whiterock, looking well pleased with this small act of charity. At least he won't get the sheets too filthy. 

“Good. That’s good,” Whiterock says, though he’s going rather hazy again now that he’s horizontal on soft sheets. He checks the life-ward. Still glowing strong, pulsing in time with his gradually slowing heartbeat. Whiterock closes his eyes, letting his breaths slow too. 

“Sleeping now?” Qibiik asks. He sounds far away. Whiterock lifts his arms, pulling Qibiik down to him. He feels warmer than usual, but he’s just as quick to nuzzle in close, going liquid in Whiterock’s embrace. Not actually liquid, though he does that sometimes as well. Just… relaxed. Content. 

“Yes. Sleeping,” Whiterock says, when he remembers Qibiik’s question. 

“Whiterock?” 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you.” 

Intellectually, Whiterock knows he should feel cold from the blood loss. However, as he drifts off, he finds himself feeling a curious warmth. 


End file.
